


The Men In His Life, Pt 2

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Series: Fence Sitter [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comfort, Hammocks, M/M, Resolution, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: Fence Sitter, Chapter 1929-year-old Micah is now living with Dante in their new-to-them house. They have spent the afternoon with a trauma therapist who had coached Micah through the sharing of his story. Now, it was nighttime. Time to relax and to ponder their next steps.





	

Dante installed the double hammock and the strings of Edison-style lightbulbs even before he had finished unpacking his clothes. Since then, anyone who might have been looking for us between twilight and bedtime would likely have found us here, with our gaze upon the stars just visible through hanging branches of eucalyptus leaves, surrounded by the scent of ripening lemons, with me wrapped in his arms. Or vice versa. Sometimes, with the lights on, we read. Tonight, the lights were off.

“Sometimes, I feel like I was born in the wrong place,” mused Dante. “I should have been Italian.”

Should this have surprised me? A man with a Maori father and a Brazilian mother who spent the first dozen years of his life in a  _cortiço_ in central S ã o Paulo, where his family lived in a single room and shared a bathroom down the hall with several other families. The housing itself was developed by eighteenth-century immigrants as part of the Italian diaspora. How did he know that he wasn’t Italian? But that wasn’t the question I asked. “Why should you have been Italian?”

“For _la dolce far niente_ , the sweetness of doing nothing. Just like this. This nothing — it restores me. Isn’t it nice?”

I agreed, “More than nice,” and didn’t bring up that for a thing we did right now and right here, he didn’t need to be in Italy to enjoy it. Because if I did, he would say something like _but the culture, with everyone enjoying at the same time amplifies amongst the group of us. Then, the sweetness gets sweeter and sweeter_. 

If that weren’t enough, he would add some piece of trivia that, by itself, would flow over me but because he would say it in a certain way, with a certain context, I would find myself thirsting for the thing he envisioned. For example, _did you know there are places in the south of Italy where an orange that was picked yesterday is considered no longer edible? Can you imagine? We have to find this place. I want to go. We would wake up from an afternoon nap to find a large bowl of oranges, still warm from the sun, waiting for us to unpeel them._

That’s how he was. He didn’t even need to say it. All I had to do was to imagine that he would say such a thing. Now, I craved oranges. 

“Dante, when you say that you should have been born as an Italian, I assume you mean you should have been born in Italy?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Which part?”

“Hmm. That’s a difficult thing to answer. When I think of it, I see orange trees [ _See? I was right._ ] and olive trees and wine and long hot days. Hm…but I think that maybe I wouldn’t be totally happy in the country.”

“No?”

“No. You know where I think? Florence.”

“Why? Have you been there?”

“Oh, shhh. No — you know I haven’t been there,” he said and swept his lips across my forehead before he returned to combing through my hair with his fingers. “But, I want to go. I think I would like it very much. And Bali. I want to go to Bali. We should go.”

“Okay.”

He tucked his chin to raise his head to look at me, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I’ll go anywhere you want to.” 

“I don’t believe it,” chuckled Dante as he squeezed my shoulder and tightened the wrap of his leg around mine. “Maybe if I threw you over my shoulder. Or better yet…I should ask _O Diretor_ to sneak into your appointment book, find the first month you don’t have anything scheduled, and fill all the spots with my name.” 

Bea (aka _O Diretor_ ) walked out on her nursing job and into my office where, as my assistant, she retrained as a paralegal and bragged daily on how she _kept Micah’s shit together_.

“I dare you,” I said, though I knew there was a fairly good chance she would do his bidding. Then I added, “But what if I _wanted_ you to throw me over your shoulder?”

“Ah,” he clarified, “you’re my lover so I should give you anything you want. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, I will throw you over my shoulder later. How’s that?” He wiggled his finger into my side as he said it, which prompted a lazy laugh from me. He tilted his head down. I tilted my head up. He cupped my face in his hand and pressed his lips to mine. I sucked on his bottom lip with series of tiny fish-like kisses. 

Again, we looked at the sky.

Dante hasn’t stopped touching me since we got back from our appointment with my trauma therapist. The first of my weekly appointments happened four months ago, just after my brother convinced me it was time to do so. It took from that day to this one to share my story. The session was a double, booked at the end of the day so neither of us would have to go back to work.

I was so scared he wouldn’t want me anymore.

That was the worst part. 

There was no way I could plan for that. Dante would feel and want whatever he felt and wanted. This was something completely out of my control. And if it happened to be true, something that would leave me utterly devastated.

In the relative safety of an office with designer boxes of tissue paper on every surface within arms distance, and with the diminutive, bearded man who had coached me in previous sessions, who continued to prompt me today, I vocalized my fears. Dante’s hand shot out to cover mine. His words soon followed, “No, _tico,_ no, no — that would never happen.” 

Ihad my doubts. Not because he couldn’t be believed but because I didn’t know how to believe what he’d just said. 

“What are you worried about?”

“I think…I might be really broken,” I choked out with a sob. Tears freely fell down my face and onto my shirt. Dante dispensed with the niceties of hands and thin paper, to kiss them away before his lips were overwhelmed with my deluge. Then came his own tears and, between us, having started thus before the session really came to a start, I was surprised we didn’t need a row boat to exit the office when the session concluded.

He was slowly, cautiously curious about everything but the questions that came while we lingered on the hammock were the ones I least expected. “The coach who used to train you at the community center. What happened to him?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You never saw him again?”

“Once. From a distance,” I said and, even as I thought of that time he showed up to my last competition, I wondered if perhaps I dreamed him being there.

“Did he go to jail? I thought he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He didn’t. I mean, he didn’t do anything wrong but that didn’t stop the story from making the rounds. I saw some stories written about him supposedly being arrested even after he’d supposedly been released. Once something like that got out…there wasn’t anything Kenny could do to keep him on. No parent who read those stories was going to let Bryan near their kids.”

“Shit. He didn’t fight it?”

“Nope. By the time Seth and I were out of quarantine — because there was nothing better than coming back from all that and catching Mono from my brother — his house had been emptied and was up for rent.”

“Wow. He just disappeared?” he asked, thinking while he paused, then came back with a second thought, “Wait. You had Mono?…Ah, no. Okay. I remember that. Is that when we tried to sneak you out to go to the beach?”

I had forgotten until the moment he said it and then, as soon as he did, I pictured how his face and…was it Dominick?…popped up ninja-style from under my window. They scratched it with their fingernails to get my attention and I jumped so high that I hit my bed on the upper bunk of our bed. Seth and I climbed out of our bedroom window and followed the boys along the side of our house only to see my mom standing, cross-armed, in front of Eliyah at the driver door of his van. 

“Ha. Yeah. We were so caught. We weren’t going anywhere that day.”

“Your mom was nice about it, though. Could you imagine if it was _Tia?_ ”

“Oh, my god. _Tia_ wouldn’t care who was around to witness the handing out however many pieces of mind she was giving away.”

“True, but we’d book it back to the house so fast the neighbors wouldn’t have a chance to hear what she had to say. Not that they would have understood her anyway.”

“You still scared of her?”

“Oh, hell yes. I’m not stupid,” his fondness for her as he said it was unmistakable. It was almost universal how people responded to the woman and her husband. They would jump to attention for _Tia_ and slink away for _Mestre_ but in either case, once they had someone’s attention, they got exactly what they wanted, when they wanted it, and by the person they wanted it from.

They were so…amazing.

“I don’t know how to be like them, Dante,” I mourned, thinking, of Raul of what to say when he realized that his father wasn’t coming back for him. Or about his first day at school that would happen in five or six weeks. 

If he were here, with us, he would go to the elementary school at the top of our hill. The one with the giant mural of an octopus, hovering over a bed of coral with tropical fish weaving through its tentacles on one wall and on the other, an alternate Mt. Rushmore capped with the likenesses of Sojourner Truth, Jesse Owens, Bessie Colman, and Thurgood Marshall, with their names painted at the bases of their respective necks . It was also the school I might have called to see if ask about enrollment and to ask about what kind of school supplies he might need.

The other situation — the current one — was probably better for him. If he remained where he was, he’d walk to school with Pete and Stella. He’d have parents that knew how to parent, knew how to set guidelines, knew how to discipline him when those weren’t followed. He’d never be lonely (he hated being alone).

But.

What would he do for Bring Your Dad to School Day?

What would he do with two dads? I didn’t know of anyone that had two dads when I went to school. Would he get bullied? Would two dads be worse than having no dads? If I didn’t know how to think about it, how would he think about it? I was almost thirty. He was six. Maybe. We didn’t know for sure. 

Nor did we really know when his birthday was. Raul’s memory served to be willfully incorrect on the matter. 

The month after he came into our lives, he said it was his birthday. And he gave us the date. “Are you sure?” we asked. “I’m sure.” So we had a party. A few weeks later, it was his birthday again. He claimed another after Stella’s birthday. And another after Beto’s. 

Cassie, an avid astrologer, said that he had to be a Libra. “No question. He’s definitely a Libra. I’d say October…Well, he could be an Aquarius now that I think about it.”

Of course, I’d already run a DNA check with no success. He came to us with no records. The best I could do was to process the paperwork as if he was home-birthed in the US. The paperwork needed a birthday. After going through all possible dates he decided that his birthday should be on Valentine’s Day. So, now it was.

“ _Tico?_ ”

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“What makes you think I’m thinking about anything?”

“You think I can’t tell? Micah, you’re so obvious to me. I see everything. I know everything. I _know_ when you’re here and when you’re not here. So. What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking of Raul.”

“Oh. That little devil.”

“Mmm. Yes. That one.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“His birthday….or should I say his birthdays?”

Dante laughed from the back of his throat; his belly shook against my arm. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I want to ask about him…but it’s been a big day, no?”

“I don’t know what I’d say.”

“You could say…what…you’re…scared of.”

“This is not an _I’m scared_ part, okay? But we both work jobs that are more than full-time. Right now, he’s got someone at home — lots of someones — and they could always be there for him. We wouldn’t be.”

“Okay. What else?”

“I’m scared I’ll be like my mom.”

“How so?”

“C’mon Dante. You know. What if I freaked out and hurt him?”

“Have you ever hit anyone?”

“Yes.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“You know who. I told you earlier today.”

“But no one else?”

“No.”

“And…have you ever yelled at someone like she used to yell at you?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, still ashamed of it, “Rory. That one day.”

“Hm. That was the loudest and craziest you’ve ever been when you got mad?”

“Yeah. It scared me that day. I felt so…out of control and so angry. You said I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me in a way that I feared for me. I was scared for _you_. We all were. You weren’t okay,” he said. “Anyhow, I don’t want to interrupt. What else?”

“What if I can’t protect him?”

“From what?”

“From…all the things they need protecting from.”

“In other words, the world,” he said. I sensed a whiff of sarcasm. Enough to let a burst of laughter escape from my mouth along with a light-hearted retribution, “Shut up.”

“What? I’m just listening very nicely,” he said and I could practically see the halo that hovered over his head as he said it.

“Uh huh. Noted.”

“ _Tico_ , I was thinking…”

I knew that tone. Whatever he was thinking, this moment wasn’t the first time he was thinking it. Not that I would admit knowing that. I responded, “You were?”

“My uncle hasn’t been able to go away for a holiday in [sigh] well if I can’t remember, it must be a long time.”

“Uh huh. And…”

“If he and my _tia_ would go away, take a small holiday, for example, someone would need to watch the kids. But, lucky for them, there are four or five families now that could share this out and …maybe stay at other houses for a week or something?”

“A whole week?” 

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because we have to work?”

“I don’t have to work all the weeks. I don’t start teaching for another month.”

“You’re going to watch all ten kids during the day?”

“Sure.”

This had the makings of a Hollywood movie. Dante, ten kids of varying ages, at home, without supervision.

“Where would all of you be during the day?”

“Here.”

“Nope. Try again.”

“At _Tia’s_ ,” his response was instant as if he’d already had it ready. “Plus, I can take them surfing during the day. Elijah’s got that surf school and I’m sure Beto will help.”

“You’ve already arranged this, haven’t you.”

“Maybe.” _Yes._

“They’re foster kids, Dante. They can’t just go with someone else.”

“But you can sort that out, can’t you?”

“Not…” I took a deep breath. _This man_. “Not overnight. It’s going to take me a few days to sort it out. But as long as you’ve thought all this up, tell me who agreed to take who.”

“ _Colher_ [aka Junior] and Bernie are going to take Beto. _O Diretor_ (Bea) and _Amante (Marky)_ want the little ones, Stella and Pete _. Abrutre_ (Rory) and Cassie already have two kids but Luna is good friends with Andi so they’ve got her. _Camaleao_ (Leland) and Julie have K’von and Ed…”

“Obviously, you’ve arranged for us to have Raul,” I continued the thought and I counted the names on my fingers. Who was he missing? And why did my intuition wake up, startled, as if to tell me, _you’re going to want to pay attention to this_?”

“…and Luis."

He paused as if to gauge my response to that extra bit of information. When I didn't say anything, he clarified, "That’s okay, isn’t it?”


End file.
